


just take it off, just shed your skin

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Breathplay, Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, Don't Like Don't Read, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Incest, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Overstimulation, Pecattiphilia, Porn with Feelings, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, the author has shocked himself with how smutty this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-16 02:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14802878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: If Gob was good at anything, it was pushing Michael’s buttons.





	1. it's all your dreams and all your fantasies, oh yeah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inouken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inouken/gifts).



> Fic and chapter titles taken from [Naughty Boy by The Mavis's](https://youtu.be/4sGl631IpLQ). Fanfiction entry for inouken's AD Sweepstakes. Not Beta read, as per usual. Also, please note that this fic contains minor breathplay, which can be [very dangerous](http://queerkink.tumblr.com/post/2862224348/the-qk-guide-to-breath-control-play) irl. Always practice safe BDSM.   
>  _(This fic was written after I'd had a few beers, so it probably won't be the most coherent fic in the world lmao.)_

If Gob was good at anything, it was pushing Michael’s buttons.

See, Michael was good at being in control. Appeasing business partners and calmly negotiating million dollar deals was what he enjoyed, as bland and dry as others may have found such an interest. The puzzle pieces of his life fit together neatly and in a perfectly ordered fashion. He got up at the same time every morning and ate the same breakfast, this dedication to banality interspersed with the occasional deviation from routine. Two slices of wholegrain toast with two dollops of jam, or a bowl of creamy porridge with a spoonful of brown sugar stirred in. He made Cornballs with his son every two weeks, and managed to burn his arm on the damn machine every single time. Changing anything about his life, even in the smallest way, was not something he was interested in. His bookshelf was ordered alphabetically. His clothes were neatly folded and hung without creases, ironed to stiff perfection. His wardrobe was restricted to greys, blues, browns, and other muted colours. His haircut cost ten bucks from a local barber that he’d been seeing faithfully for five whole years.

Gob would have liked to claim that disrupting Michael’s routine was a pursuit of selfless concern. The man _needed_ to relax or he’d have a heart attack before he hit sixty.

But, really, Gob just couldn’t help himself.

Which was why, mid-week during one of the most hectic business deals that the Bluth company had ever negotiated, Michael emerged into his kitchen to find Gob leaned up against his fridge, sipping coffee, hair mussed from sleep. He was tucked into a white dress shirt, and appeared to be wearing only a pair of black briefs in accompaniment. The sleeves were a touch too long, the shoulders the slightest bit too broad, and he looked… younger. Like he was just begging to be defiled, to be touched. Michael’s eyes trailed down his brother's body, wandering over those bare legs, and he realised very quickly what kind of game Gob intended to play this morning.

"Morning, Mikey."

“…What are you doing here?”

Gob grinned broadly, eyes hooded and endearingly sleepy. “Oh, I used your spare bedroom last night, I hope you don’t mind.”

Michael raised his eyebrows, unable to keep from smiling a little. Gob knew he minded. Gob _knew_ that he hated it when people came around unannounced.

That was the whole point.

He walked up to the fridge, right in front of Gob. They stared at each other, and Michael crossed his arms as if he was actually taking a stand against this invasion of his space. They both knew he’d give in, but he didn’t want to make it too easy. That’d spoil the fun.

“You going to move, so I can get into the fridge?”

Gob shrugged one shoulder carelessly, sipping his coffee again. He was insolent. Petty. And when he lowered the mug from his mouth he licked at his lips, moistening them just to see Michael’s gaze flick predictably downward. They’d been dancing around each other like this for so many years, but somehow the appeal of it all hadn’t faded. Gob’s face was more weathered now than it had been before, the hair at his temples greyed with age, but he was no less beautiful. Where they had once been addicted to the inferno of new experiences and shameful admissions of want, now their taboo relationship was one of familiarity. It had been many years since Michael was happily married, but he imagined that this was what it would’ve been like to grow old with his wife… minus the delicious criminality of it all. Forbidden fruit never stopped tasting good.

Michael kept his arms defiantly crossed as Gob leaned sideways, reaching over to place his mug on the kitchen bench. When he straightened up again he was still and silent, gazing petulantly at Michael. Waiting for him to make the first move.

“Are you going to get out of my way?” Michael asked again, tone flattening into something that was very nearly an order. Gob’s lips parted as he inhaled with notable excitement, so willing and eager to be disciplined for his childishness. Really, this was a mutually beneficially relationship.

“No,” he said.

Michael nodded, expression hardening, smile fading. He was committing to this moment, to becoming a colder, more authoritative version of himself. To seeing their encounter through to the very end. It was awfully freeing, accepting that he’d be late to work today because he would be busy fucking his own brother.

He reached up, took the curve of Gob’s jaw in hand. Gob’s eyelids dipped down in a slow blink as Michael drew a thumb over his willing lips, a hysterical thrill blooming in his chest when he considered how risky it was for Michael to touch him like this in the same house where George Michael was sleeping. It was a damn good thing that Michael’s son had a schedule just as strict as his father's. They had half an hour, at least.

“You sure you don’t want to get out of my way, Gob?”

Gob smirked, Michael’s thumb still pressed against his lips. The sleek metal of the fridge was hard and unforgiving against his back, and he leaned obstinately against it, letting Michael crowd him where he stood.

“You could probably convince me to move,” Gob suggested, “if you really tried.”

“Don’t play coy.” Michael admonished him quietly, not kindly. He moved his thumb to the underside of Gob’s chin, pressing hard enough to make Gob arch his neck, inhaling sharply at the pressure. He shifted uncomfortably, eyes fluttering closed, pressing his hands flat against the fridge. He knew what was expected of him, and his hands would remain there until Michael told him otherwise.

“I don’t have to _play,"_  he retorted,"brother.”

“Is that right? I think you’re more desperate than you pretend, Gob. Why’d you come here?”

“Thought you might appreciate a distraction, given how busy you’ve been lately.”

Michael chuckled. “How sweet.”

Gob sighed happily, eyes still closed. Hearing Michael’s voice drip with disdainful sarcasm was a favourite pastime of his. He knew they would come together in honesty when they were done, curled up in bed, exchanging warm words and comforting reassurances, but for now he wanted to be bent to Michael’s will... and be allowed no individual agency.

This was his fucking addiction.

Without announcing his actions or bothering with a warning, Michael moved abruptly closer to him, reaching down to grab at his crotch through thin boxer briefs. Gob flinched, torso tightening with a clench of muscle, hips jerking reflexively into the warmth of Michael’s palm. He was already hard, a thick solid line filling out his underwear, and Michael knew all the best ways to drive him mad like this. Gob rolled his bottom lip under his teeth and bit down, eyebrows drawing together in an expression of true desperation.

“Are you really just here to help me, hmm?” Michael’s voice was flat and bored, almost _disinterested,_ and Gob knew no amount of simpering and begging would speed this encounter to its climax. He held back a whine as Michael casually massaged him, throat tight with the effort.

“I need you,” Gob admitted, the barest tremor breaking apart his voice, “I’m here because I need you.”

“Your own brother.” Michael murmured. “You know that’s wrong, don’t you?”

Gob groaned. “Yes.”

“You know you’re sick?” Michael moved closer. “Perverted?”

“God, yeah. I do. I do.”

“You want to get better?” Michael squeezed his cock through fabric, in a way that should have been too harsh to be pleasurable. A blip of helplessness escaped Gob’s throat. “You want this fixed, huh? This disgusting part of you?”

“No, I don’t, I-”

“No, you want me to touch you. You want your own brother to jerk you off. Like this, Gob? Is this what you want?” Michael’s fingers tugged tantalisingly at the elastic of Gob’s waistband. Not close enough. Not nearly. Gob needed so much more.

“Please,” Gob breathed, throat clicking when he swallowed, “Michael, I need-”

“Shut up. It was a rhetorical question.”

Whatever pleas Gob had been about to make were silenced when Michael’s hand pressed hard against his mouth, palm muffling Gob’s voiceless moans. Michael moved his other hand slowly, patiently, so calm and methodical and controlling.

Christ, Michael was so fucking _dominant._ They were a perfect match; Gob was thrilled to be imposed upon, blissfully submissive in a way that he’d never been with anybody else. He didn’t think too deeply about why he was this way, why he enjoyed the things that he did, but that was a mutual attitude. They shared a bloodline, and they fucked in secret. Nobody could ever, _ever_ know, and the depravity of their trysts made it all the better. If George Michael walked out into the kitchen right now, they would be done for.

Gob nearly came just from imagining being caught.

 

***

 

It didn't take long.

Michael kept him pinned still, hand pressed hard over his mouth, glancing occasionally behind him to make sure his son hadn't gotten up for the morning. Breaths mingled with choked cries, Gob shuddering himself into a frantic state, his cheeks hot with a blush that was equal parts arousal and oxygen deprivation. It was difficult to breathe, being smothered like this, and his pulse was sprinting hot beneath his skin. He'd never been more turned on in his life. Tears pooled in his eyes, beading when he blinked, blurring his vision in true testament to the intensity of this experience. His body wound tighter and tighter, back bowing, fingers bunched into fists, jaw clenched tight, and then–

And then he fell apart.

Between one frenzied breath and the next he went limp, eyes glazing over, fists uncurling, head lolling into the grip of Michael's hand. When Michael let him go he sagged weakly forward, arms hanging, face pressed against Michael's neck. He gasped for air, chest heaving, thighs trembling as he tried to remain upright. Michael held him up, arms wrapped securely around his waist.

"You okay?" Michael whispered, breaking character just for the moment.

"Mm," Gob hummed listlessly in response, unable to offer an actual reply.

"You sure?"

Gob nodded.

"Do you want to stop?"

Gob shivered at those words, because he knew what they meant. He knew what Michael was asking.

They weren't finished yet.

 


	2. i bet you say that to all the boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had quite possibly _the worst_ day ever today, so.......... here's some porn. because who doesn't love smut and filth as a way of de-stressing.

They went to Michael’s bedroom. The space was symmetrical and clean and soft in all the right ways, so welcoming it felt almost too orchestrated. It was a metaphor for Michael’s entire life. Gob knew the veneer of normalcy that Michael hid behind, knew how much Michael valued that facade, and he _loved_ being the only exception.

Michael led him inside and closed the door, the silence between them magnified by the knowledge of what they were about to do. It never really went away, that feeling, especially now that they were grown men. Gob had heard horrific stories of people being abused by their family members, but this wasn’t that. And it never had been. What they shared was too innocent and genuine to be understood by the rest of the word, and they would most certainly never be able to tell their parents. It was probable that they would die keeping this secret, but Gob had made peace with that a long time ago. They didn’t need anybody else to know.

All they needed was this.

Michael pushed him down onto the bed, fingers digging momentarily into Gob’s shoulders, his touch firm and unrelenting. He knew what Gob wanted. He knew that Gob needed to let go, needed to be given no choice. He spent the rest of his life careening between highs and lows, so vulnerable to the judgement of others, and he needed to be taken apart meticulously by someone who had seen into his heart and accepted everything there. The bed dipped beneath the weight of Michael’s knees. Gob blinked sluggishly, body warm and heavy as Michael straddled his thighs, sitting back on his legs. He almost wanted to be a witness to this, a voyeur, and imagining what they looked like had a tired echo of desire sparking through his body. He imagined Michael knelt over him, fully dressed with his shirt tucked in and his sleeves rolled up past his forearms, looking down his own nearly-naked brother.

“You should film us,” he whispered, “sometime. So we can watch it later.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Michael asked. He slid his hand onto the curve of Gob’s ass, squeezing gently enough but with honest intent, the meaning behind the action obvious before he continued speaking. “What if someone were to find out? What if someone saw the video? Knew that I touched you like this?”

Gob closed his eyes, groaning quietly into the pillow.

“That turns you on, huh.”

“Your son’s probably getting breakfast right now. In this same house, Mikey. Don’t act all innocent, like you don’t feel the same-”

He gasped, the snarky comment cut off when Michael’s palm came down on his ass in a ringing slap. He stiffened where he lay, grunting at the pain. Michael continued to grope him, the fabric of his underwear chafing against now-reddened skin, and Gob would’ve been furiously grinding into the mattress were he not so drained from his orgasm. His head swum with the overstimulation, his heartbeat sprinting at a breakneck pace.

It was a warning. A reminder to be subservient, an indication of what was expected of him in this bed. He let the tension ease from him, the tips of his fingers trembling slightly, tightness ebbing and falling though every muscle. Giving in. Michael waited until he was still, fingers caressing his ass with the gentlest cruelty. They were silent during this process, this unspoken transference of power.

Then, still without any verbal indication of intent, Michael began to roughly undress Gob.

The shirt tugged against Gob’s skin, buttons catching and seams straining, but he liked that. The insistence turned him on. He wouldn’t be able to come for hours yet, exhausted and emotionally drained as he was, which made the prospect of Michael fucking him even more delicious. The knowledge that Michael cared for him, and would stop if Gob ever gave the word, allowed him to surrender completely. He could be helpless and pliant here, beneath Michael’s body. Free to relax into it.

Michael reached beneath Gob to undo the buttons of his shirt. Then he lifted Gob’s arms by the wrists, tugging the sleeves free, eventually pulling the shirt off him entirely and throwing it to the side of the bed. Gob moaned again, the prickling shock of anticipation and want humming through him, drugging him into a state somewhere between unconsciousness and arousal. Michael didn’t pause or delay, yanking down Gob’s underwear down his legs– and soon, quicker than Gob could even process, he was entirely naked. Michael ran a hand from the nape of his neck down the curve of his freckled back, over his ass and between his legs, rubbing at the shape of him with what could almost be described as thoughtful contemplation. Like he never got tired of exploring Gob’s body, no matter how many times they did this. Gob wanted to tell him to hurry up, wanted to whine and bitch and beg just so Michael would slap him again, but then Michael was leaning over him, hands braced on either side of his shoulders. He pressed his hips down in a slow grind, dragging the front of his pants against Gob’s bare ass, the buckle of his belt jutting into Gob’s skin. The front of his pants were taut.

“Certainly _standing to attention_ there, Michael,” Gob breathed, “Jesus.”

“You talk too much.”

“You love it.”

Michael didn’t disagree. He kissed Gob’s neck, sucking a bruise into his skin. He was obviously feeling bold, because they didn’t usually do that. Leave marks. Evidence. He reached down, hand between Gob’s legs again, fingers seeking out a place only he was allowed to touch. A place no other man had breached. While he had been trying to figure himself out, torn between steadfast denial and gloriously uninhibited sexuality, Gob _had_ initiated the occasional affair with men; but he’d never been fucked by anybody else. Just Michael. Just his younger brother.

“Do I need to ask whether you’ve been good, Gob?” Michael asked. He rubbed his thumb against fragile, silk-soft skin, humming appreciatively when he encountered the cold slide of dried lubricant. “Did you get yourself ready before you came here? Or are you spreading your legs for anybody now?”

Gob blushed furiously at the implication, burying his face in the pillow as Michael started to massage his way inwards. He’d always been very receptive to this kind of foreplay.

“You know I’ve- I’ve never,” Gob began, “You know I don’t… Not with anyone else Mikey, I…”

Michael hushed him, drawing teasing circles with his thumb. He shifted atop Gob, reaching for the bedside table, pulling open the top drawer and retrieving a bottle of lube. He had just opened the cap with a popping sound when, suddenly, they heard it.

_Tap tap tap._

Knocking. Knuckles against Michael’s bedroom door.

Gob froze, automatic shock pummelling through him. Michael went still above him for only a moment before he was bolting up off the bed, quickly making his way to the door, opening the door only a crack, blocking George Michael’s view of the room.

“Hey, buddy,” Michael greeted him with shocking ease, “What’s up?”

“Oh hey, dad,” George Michael said, “I was looking for the, uh, toaster? Where’s that gone?”

“Jeez, you know, I think mom has it.” Michael replied. “Yeah, hers was broken. You know how she is, she doesn’t go shopping for that stuff on her own. Has Lupe do it. You’ll just have to have cereal, alright? Now listen, I’m taking a very important call in here, so don’t interrupt again, okay?”

“Oh, right-“

“Alright, son. Good talk.”

“Well,” George Michael laughed in his typical sheepish way, “Well, it wasn’t really a talk-”

Michael closed the door.

For the longest moment, Gob couldn’t even stand to look over. When he eventually did, Michael was leaned up against the door, eyes wide, the smallest of smiles tugging at his mouth. He didn’t look as frightened as he should have, which was good, because Gob didn’t _feel_ as frightened as he should have. In fact, his cock was now half-hard, pressing hot between his body and the mattress. He’d entertained many a fantasy where he and Michael were caught by some unsuspecting member of their own family. Oh, it was so fucked up, and he _knew_ that, but there was an animalistic spark in Michael’s eyes that reassured him they were exactly the same brand of perverted.

George Michael’s footfalls could be clearly heard retreating from the bedroom door, leaving to another part of the house. Michael stepped away from the door, advanced towards the bed. Gob stayed where he was, lying still and naked, dizzy with the knowledge of what would come next. There was no mistaking the look on Michael’s face. No denying what they were.

Michael straddled him again, picking the lube up from where he’d dropped it on the sheets. There was the clink of a belt buckle, the metallic scrape of a zipper, and Gob realised that Michael wasn’t even going to bother _undressing._ He poured lubricant onto his fingers, the wet sound a filthy testament to what would come next, and slicked himself up. Gob hid his face, eyes squeezed shut, hardly able to breathe. This was ownership, plain and simple.

And he loved it.

Michael took hold of his hip, inched forward on the bed. The blunt, unexpected pressure of a cock started to ease into Gob, and he choked back a moan, one single gasp wrenching free from his strained throat. If they made too much noise, George Michael would come back, and– fantasy or not– Gob really wasn’t eager to pay for the kid’s therapy for the next twenty years. He hadn’t prepared himself well enough, and even with the additional lube it burned. Michael lifted Gob's hips, bringing his ass up off the bed. It gave him a better angle, more leverage to fuck Gob deeper; he jerked his body forward, driving in hard, and it took every single ounce of Gob’s self control not to wail in pain.

“Look at you,” Michael whispered, "You _slut_."

Gob almost came again.

Michael started to fuck him, hard. Gob pressed his lips together, not trusting himself to speak, and then laid both hands over his mouth when that wasn't enough. His body was rocked in place, bed creaking as Michael's pace increased, no room for gentleness or subtlety in this moment. Gob had no energy left to give, no possible way of wringing another orgasm from his exhausted body, so he just took it. Limp, dazed, and overstimulated. He loved feeling Michael inside him, loved the pain, loved the intimacy of surrendering so completely to another person.

He wouldn't have given this up for the world.

 

 


	3. take my hand, angel man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got unexpectedly emotional and serious, but hey, that's #selfcare for ya   
>  (on a more genuine note, my life is a flaming pile of garbage, so like. this whole chapter might not even make sense! but oh well. please enjoy, leave a comment, this isn't beta read, etc, etc.)

Michael gripped Gob’s wrists hard enough to dent bruises into his skin, the rabid pace of his hips stuttering to a standstill when he came. Gob lay there, eyes falling closed, gasping in broken relief as Michael breathed ragged curses above him. Eventually the determination and merciless control abandoned Michael entirely, and he lost all prior resolve, bowing forward and dropping his face into the crook of Gob’s neck. He stayed there for a while, letting the warmth pulse through him, cock softening while sparks danced behind his eyelids. When he did eventually pull out, Gob trembled silently at the not-quite pleasant sensation, the vulnerability of emptiness somehow more intimate than the actual act of fucking. White handprints bloomed on his wrists as Michael's hold relented, along with itching pinpricks of returning sensation. Gob flexed his fingers dazedly.

Michael’s familiar mouth trailed kisses down his spine, tracing the shape of bone beneath skin, and it made Gob shiver, aching to be held after an act so delightfully violent. And Michael knew, because he always did. He slid down next to Gob, tucking himself back in and lazily zipping up his fly, reaching both arms around his brother to pull him close. Gob sighed shakily, clothes scratching against his bare body.

“You’re perfect.”

Gob hummed out a drowsy approximation of laughter, embarrassed and overjoyed by Michael’s quiet approval of him. He reached up to loosely hold Michael’s waist, fingers numb against a shined leather belt. Moisture, thick and sticky, shone against the fragile skin of his inner thighs, and he was dumbfounded by how emotionally immense their sex was. Every single time. It was inevitable. Nobody else could touch him like this, nobody else could ever _matter_ the same way Michael did.

Their knees knocked. Legs sliding together, denim against sweat-damp skin.

“You should shower.” Michael suggested, dominance fading into an amusingly platonic brotherly concern. “You feeling okay? Did I hurt you? If you need me to-”

“I’m fine,” Gob mumbled, words thick and low, “ _god,_ you’re so needy.”

“Says the guy who was begging me to fuck him just now,” Michael teased. He pressed a kiss against the corner of Gob’s mouth.

“Just giving you what you want, Mikey. Just giving you what you want.”

The retort barely made sense, but Gob was just glad he’d been able to string together a coherent sentence. Michael’s hand was curled against his side, fingers stroking small circles over the sensitive terrain of his ribs. Gob was melting into the bed, succumbing to the heavy, well-won pull of sleep. Fuck, it wasn’t even midday. An ache was building in his lower back, reaching to a place deep and warm within him, and his calves were cramping where he lay.

“Maybe we’re getting too old for this,” he mused tiredly.

“Why? You sore?”

Gob ignored the genuine concern in Michael’s voice. Eyes closed, he thought of auburn hair and gold rings, how happy Michael had looked on his wedding day.

“Do you miss her?”

Michael’s fingers paused in their pattern, stilling against the curve of Gob’s rib. He let out a long sigh, sounding more thoughtful than annoyed. It wasn't the first time Gob had asked, and it wouldn't be the last. This had been her bed, once. A long time ago. And she still lingered here, manifesting in Gob's guilt and in the gnawing loneliness that occasionally overcame Michael, leading him to seek out the warmth of his brother's comfort. They loved each other, that much was certain. But she'd never really go away, and they had both accepted that. At least they could talk about her now.

“You know I do. But this isn’t about her, Gob. This is about us. About you.”

Gob hugged him closer, appreciating reassurances that had already been given a thousand times. Michael held him tight.

They didn't talk for a while.

 

 


End file.
